


Violent Repose

by FelineJaye



Category: A Nightmare on Elm Street (2010)
Genre: (Child Sexual Abuse that is), Bone Breaking, Drug Abuse (kinda), Fake Child Molestation, Gore, Gut Sex, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, More Like Caffeine and Adrenaline Abuse?, Nonconsensual Arousal, Past Child Abuse, Throat Sex, Unconventional Sexual Orifices, commission, non-explicit death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 01:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14989667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelineJaye/pseuds/FelineJaye
Summary: It was meant to all be over - Nancy had killed Freddy.At least he can buy Nancy some time.





	Violent Repose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kialish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kialish/gifts).



> So the Nancy/Quentin parts are one-sided because... uh... Look she doesn't actually reject him or anything, okay?

The nightmares were the worst of it, by their nature, Nancy and Quentin agreed. The nightmares of Krueger returning were the worst because - for agonising moments - they couldn't before if it was just a nightmare or if it was one of his nightmares. They both always had their phones on, usually tucked under their pillow, ready to answer each other at any time of night. Nancy had woken him before to cry at 2am, telling him how she wanted to vomit so hard that her throat would burn away at the feeling of his hands on her. Quentin called and just asked to hear her, to hear what she was working on and how her day was and how her new foster parents were.

Maybe that's why it sneaked up on him. Why Quentin was caught off guard.

* * *

 

He was in bed, his mind wandering, his blankets too numerous and his feet not reaching the end of his bed. Quentin's eyes roamed over the posters on his wall.

"You really like these kinda of things."

He nodded, feeling mute and small. A shiver ran through him and he realised he was in flannelette pyjamas. He hadn't worn things like this in years. The bed dipped on the side, but he was looking away, tracing the outline of the band in one of his posters. He had to trace their shape, otherwise he might start paying attention. He didn't want to pay attention when this happened. Didn't want to think.

Around the head and down the shoulders. Up across the next person's shoulder and tracing up his neck. The triangle spikes of his hair. He used to do this - space out while letting his mind roam. He had to because he couldn't think of how else to ignore the coarse hands running up his sides, touching his waist and hips and thighs. So he traced the shapes on the basement wall and the shapes drawn by others and--

Hadn't he been in his bedroom?

"You always were a tricky little boy, Quentin."

He didn't mean to be.

"I'm sorry." came his high-pitched voice, unstretched by puberty.

If he was less tricky would Mr. Krueger not be doing this? It was his fault for being too tricky. If he was just more normal...

"It's okay," the voice rasped in his ear, the sound of popping fire within it, "It's a nice change. I never appreciated you like I should have, before."

So then it wouldn't change? He couldn't do anything He wasn't helpless - he'd helped kill Krueger before. He'd helped-

He'd killed Mr. Krueger before.

"Just catching on now? And you used to be such a **smart** little boy."

He tried to lurch out of bed, but hands came around his middle. His little legs lashed out, wildly kicking as he thrashed his arms about in a similar manner. Krueger had done something, manipulated the dream so that Quentin was just a little kid again. The sick fuck probably **liked** it when they had all been so much easier to overpower. He twisted his arm around and scratched at the monster's burnt face. Laughter crackled in his ear, the breath on his face humid and festering.

"Where are you going, Quentin? It's just gonna be you and me. Just you and me."

The walls around them boomed as Quentin continued to struggle against Krueger's iron-grip, feeling all the muscles along his back and down his legs rubbing uncomfortably against the rough-knit sweater where Krueger held him tight against his body. He screamed, finally, the sound matching his small body as he tried with all his might to get out of the grip. The walls boomed again and again and--

Quentin sat up just as his father opened his door and entered the room. He looked down at his lap, tight-lipped, as the man lectured him. He didn't bother explaining himself. No one had listened when they'd explained what had happened with Freddy. His father wasn't going to magically explain now. Nodding in compliance, his father finally left.

He rubbed his nails against the pads of his thumbs, considering calling Nancy. That had been a rather hardcore nightmare. His fucked-up psyche had really gone all out. Quentin was just about to reach for the phone when his dazed eyes stopped and focused on his hands. Where he'd been rubbing his nails, little bits of rolled up skin had dislodged. Peering closer, he realised that pink, raw skin was caught, scraped up under his nails.

Not just a nightmare.

* * *

 

He didn't waste time cornering Nancy the next day. Quentin found her in one of the back corners of the school library, a common place for her these days. She didn't have friends anymore, unless you counted him and... Quentin wasn't sure if he did. It didn't seem fair to.

"Hey," he announced as he slid into one of the chairs opposite her with a furtive look about him. She gave him a tired look and for a moment he was horrifically relieved;

"Trouble sleeping?" he prodded.

She rolled her eyes, looking at him with a disbelieving look from under her brow.

"Duh. I told you last night, remember?"

He did remember, now that she mentioned it. She'd called, crying, saying how she'd seen their friends as Freddy had... She'd seen some horrible things last night. But he'd forgotten after his dream which had happened much closer to his waking. Hers had just seemed... It was important, of course. They both needed support. But a common nightmare compared to maybe Freddy Krueger actually returning? Well, it was no contest.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah yeah yeah."

He didn't feel good, the dream had thrown everything off. They'd just started to feel safe. Just started to get to bed at normal times instead of staying up late with a primal fear of what sleep would bring.

"Nancy, hey. Have your nightmares been- I mean. How've they been?"

"They suck, Quentin. Are- Are you o- ... How have yours been?"

He didn't answer for a moment and the library whirred around them, full of the low white noise of air conditioner units and fifty computers in stand-by mode.

"Weird." he told her, "It feels like. He feel really real, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

He perked, his eyebrows twitching up just a fraction, hopeful.

"It feels like he's really there when you're dreaming. Like it's real life. It's real enough that it's hard to shake, even when you wake up and realise it's ridiculous."

"But is it?" he pounced, "What if- Nancy, nothing like this has happened before. How do we know that he's gone for sure? How do-"

"Quentin!"

He flinched, looking back at her. He'd almost been ranting, blinking too much and looking around the table. She drew him back.

"Quentin, I pulled him out. I **felt** him with my own hands, in real life. The fire was real - we can look at the papers again, if you want. I **know** , okay? I know. But we can sleep now. He destroyed him."

He looked at her, eyes unblinking and his jaw clenched. Nancy looked down at the table and a small frown graced her lips.

"Look I... If you're having a relapse or something. If you're starting to have hallucinations like I did. Remember the mirror?" she didn't look at him as she spoke - the time right after Krueger was especially painful for her. She'd lost her mother on top of everything and the hallucinations came with a psychiatrist who she just couldn't talk to and...

God he felt like a piece of shit, making her relive that.

"You can talk to me. We'll figure it out." she looked up at him, her blue eyes sparkling with something wet and hopeful.

He couldn't tell her. It would break her, wreck her, ruin her. Krueger hadn't appeared to her yet and Quentin just couldn't be that bearer of horrible, deadly news. He couldn't do that to her.

He smiled. It wasn't strained.

"Okay."

She smiled back at him and the butterflies in his stomach made him feel sick. As she dropped her attention back to her book his smile dropped just as easily.

* * *

 

He knew what to do this time. Stock up on zoneral, swipe some adrenaline, hop up on energy drinks. He'd study, figure out a way to stop Krueger on his own. He'd break the dreams, figure out how to pull Freddy through like Nancy had. They still didn't know why she seemed to be the only one who could.

It all seemed so simple.

He went around to different pharmacies - took his script to some out of town places. They wouldn't check, he'd just get it filled ten times as much as it should be. He did it early, so he didn't look like a junkie while trying. He spent what cash he had and stocked up on energy drinks, stacking them in his wardrobe. He stole cash from his parents when that didn't look like enough.

He scoped out hospitals, looked for places he could lie and manipulate his way into. Places he could pretend to be a brother, a cousin, a son. Where he could wait until a nurse looked the other way and then leave with a friendly nod.

It came crashing down there. A nurse caught him, bells decorating the cart jangling as he made the grab. As his father entered the police station, he was confronted with his mass of zoneral, asking how he'd done it, what he thought he was doing. He hadn't slept the night before, and despite his zoneral and five cans of 5-hour energy drinks he was shaking just slightly.

He came home to find his zoneral confiscated, his father in charge of dispensing it. His wardrobe was empty of drinks, those thrown out in a dumpster away from the house. The adrenaline he'd never made off with in the first place, of course. He was practically under house arrest and he only had about twenty hours left to solve this mess.

* * *

 

He couldn't blink or he wouldn't be sure if reality was real or not. He was doing a piss poor job at hiding things from Nancy and she was getting annoyed - angry. Said she could help, that they'd done it together last time.

If he just told her...

She still wasn't having the dreams. Krueger wasn't going to her. How could he be back and not paying attention to his favourite little girl? The photos had mostly been girls, didn't he prefer them? And she'd been his favourite, he'd said. She'd said that he'd said about her.

Quentin couldn't think. His thoughts were going around in circles. The burned face was behind his eyelids when he blinked. The scratch of gardening gloves ran up his spine and sometimes it left living scratches but only sometimes and then he'd check and-

Gone.

Freddy couldn't be back. They'd killed him. Why would he ignore his favourite girl? Nancy had confessed one night that Krueger had wanted to be her boyfriend.

Maybe she was his girlfriend now. Maybe she wasn't as stressed as him because she was getting off every night to that man between her legs, sucking her clit and fucking her-

No, no, no!

God that was dumb, that was ridiculous. She hated Freddy. She wouldn't join him. Wouldn't betray Quentin like that.

But then why was Freddy just after him?

* * *

 

On the 17th of September Quentin Smith was admitted to Thompson Memorial Hospital at 10.52pm.

The tentative diagnosis was a coma onset by chronic sleep-deprivation. Alan Smith, his father, told the doctors that his son had been having drug problems recently, possibly in an effort to self-medicate a recent relapse of trauma. Psychiatric personal are on stand-by, but cannot help until he wakes up.

Freddy Krueger isn't going to let this one get away so easily.

* * *

 

Quentin woke, his vision fluttering in front of him and a cool hand on his forehead. The room the was dark, the curtains drawn and there was a constant hum and beep of machinery. Beside him came a soft;

"Oh."

He turned to see Nancy's perfect, soft face looking down on him. Still dazed if not even more dazed by the sight, we tipped his head to the other side to take in more of the room. A hospital. What had happened? The last thing he could remember was trying to keep awake because Freddy...

The heart monitor sped up.

"Sh..." was Nancy's soothing voice, "It's okay, Quentin, it's safe."

She knew. Knew what he was scared of.

"You got stuck in... Kinda a psychosis. It happens from trauma, sometimes. And, I mean, what we went through..."

Yeah, trauma alright.

"But you're safe."

He sat up, the sun shining in low from the window dancing on his lower back.

"What are you doing here, Nancy?"

He'd been grounded, she shouldn't be allowed her in his room. He guessed getting hospitalised might have shortened the punishment time. She smiled at him, soft. She was always so soft. Or - was she always this soft? Her lips looked particularly pink but missed the gloss of lip balm or the like.

Nancy was smiling at him and he was melting.

"I wanted to see if you were okay. After everything..." she looked away, bashful, "I wanted to check in."

There was a silence he was loathe to break. It felt...

Everything was so soft, the bed, her cheeks, his eyelids.

"And..." she trailed, "I was thinking."

She flicked her gaze up to him then looked away again, her cheeks dusted pink.

"About what you said."

"What I said?" That could cover... so many things.

"When we were still unravelling things. You said - you asked me to 'sleep on it'."

She huffed a laugh, he smirked, both pieces of humour tinged with lethal comedy.

"And, I was thinking. Yes."

She looked up, now, her grey eyes shining from the noon sun.

"I think I... I **do** want to try it. With you. I mean.." she laughed, a self-conscious sound. "I..."

She looked around, as if inspiration would strike. He knew what she was talking about now, at least. It wasn't a complete surprise when she surged forward and pressed her pink lips against his cracked ones. She shuffled closer, turning the kiss _soft_ and he raised a hand to her cheek and let it linger into something _tender_ and...

They stayed like that, for minutes, kissing at each other, sharing memories only the two of them had.

And then Nancy ran a hand down his side, sneaked a hand under his shirt and he pulled back to shudder against her lips;

"What-?"

While she flinched back and muttered; "Sorry-"

And they awkwardly talked over each other until they confirmed that they were both consenting and neither was pushing the other as they tugged and peeled off each other's shirts. She kissed at his neck, he stroked her spine and rested his hands on the swell of her arse. They held each other tight and pulled their bodies together just so they could share their heat.

Quentin found himself slipping down her body as she shuffled up to lean back against his headboard. This was going fast, this was a lot, but he could feel himself grown hard in his pants and she was gorgeous and he'd liked her for so, **so** long. She wanted it, she'd said. If she wanted to stop, she'd say, right? He had checked again and again and always she was saying yes.

Like now, as she pressed her soft fingers into his curls and pulled his lips up against her panties. He obediently licked at her until she tugged down the barrier and he breathed in her smell before pressing his tongue against her directly.

Quentin licked up her, drooling liberally as he took her in his mouth and gently sucked at her, twirling his mouth around. She felt so good in his mouth, so good as he bobbed up and down on her, feeling the head of her cock brush against the roof of her mouth. Feeling as her hand clenched in his hair and her nails scratched at the back of his neck. As she...

_This is incorrect. This is wrong._

The room was dark. Hadn't he been in a hospital?

Why was he in his room?

From the corner of his eye, he saw an old, old poster of his. He hadn't watched that cartoon since he was five.

_This isn't real._

There was a low chuckle from above.

"Come on now, Quentin, keep it up."

He swivelled his eyes up, the red and green stripes passing through his vision before he met the man's burnt and distorted face.

Freddy Krueger.

**That's** who he had his lips wrapped around. His throat constricted, immediately trying to vomit out of fear or disgust or both. He shook his head and threw his shoulders, his hands coming up to try and push away from where Krueger had his lips locked.

"Oh come on now, don't be like that. I'll be finished soon."

Krueger tightened his grip in Quentin's hair, dragging the boy back down onto his cock, the grip pressing the blades of his shears into the delicate skin at the back of his neck. He felt tiny bubbles of blood welling up as he continued to thrash and as Freddy continued to moan above him.

Eventually he just drew back his lips and bit the cock nestled within his mouth.

Krueger gave a predictable shout, letting go just long enough for Quentin to scramble off the bed and dash out the door. The monster was laughing before he'd even left.

* * *

 

As soon as he'd left the room, he'd been in the boilers. The place was full of steam, the ground rough concrete and the walls boiling hot iron piping. Krueger's laugh echoed everywhere. Quentin would run down a corridor only to see the man's shape silhouetted at the end and have to turn back and find another way.

He didn't know where he was hoping to run. Just away from the monstrous man that had him caught here.

When he'd had time to stop and catch his breath, he'd had time to think. He had little else to do while he ran, really. So Quentin had realised, logically, that there was nothing he could really do. He must be in a coma right now - after all his stimulants had been thrown away or restricted there was no way he could've remained awake.

He wasn't going to wake up from this nightmare. All he had left was waiting for Freddy to kill him.

_Maybe,_ he thought with treacherous hope, _Nancy will do something._

But he didn't really believe that.

The injuries stung and prickled at his skin. The steam made them pucker strangely. They weren't deep, light scratches that barely bubbled with blood ran up his back. His thighs and shoulders bore bruises from where he'd roughly crashed into the pipe-lined walls. His lip had cracked and every once in a while he tasted copper on his tongue and he nervously licked his lips.

His temple had stopped blood, the blood there still smeared from when Freddy had gotten close enough to smash the side of his head into a rusting bar. It had left him too dazed to know which way to run but not so dazed that he couldn't run at all. He'd almost ran straight into Kruger's arms after that incident, had the monster not laughed and asked if he'd;

"Really wanted a hug that bad?"

Quentin did not want a hug from Mr. Krueger.

His feet where scraped bare from running on the hot concrete. This dream hadn't given him anything better than the pajamas he'd been in back in his fake bedroom. A thread-bare t-shirt and shorts that thankfully didn't leave him shivering in the heat of the steamy air. They left him shivering in a different way when Freddy's clawed hands lingered down his back, when the monster laughed in a manner that wasn't entirely cruel.

Quentin kinda wished he would just stick to murder.

* * *

 

He was tired.

Quentin didn't realise you even could get tired in a dream, in a coma. He hadn't had a proper moment to lean back and catch his breath. Krueger never seemed to tire of chasing him down the endless hallways. He'd tried mentally mapping them out at first but after he'd had to double back on himself a few times and had found himself in an alien corridor he realised that there was no logic to map out.

Nothing here was in his favour. This was Krueger's world.

He was starting to trip over his feet. He didn't want to keep running. He wanted to sit down and rest. He wanted to sit and throw a tantrum. It wasn't fair! They'd beaten him already! He had been prepared this time!

He didn't know if his 5-year-old tactics was from his exhausted brain or from Krueger twisting him.

He didn't know when he started sucking his thumb in those rare moments he got to stop running. He should've been gasping in air but instead he found himself regressing back to the habit. His knees where scrapped from his tripping, maroon and royal yellow mottling the outsides of his thighs, raw red peeling at his palms and his elbows grey and scuffed. He never felt so immature.

Krueger was doing that on purpose, he supposed.

The nursery rhymes weren't a coincidence. The longer he remained here the more he remembered them. This whole place was a distorted version of Krueger's memories and it mirror back his wants and desires. Too bad the thing he wanted was to molest children.

Quentin's toe stubbed on the concrete below him and as he hissed in pain his foot landed wrong and his ankle twisted and tilted the weight of his body onto it's side until he spilled out of the corridor and gut-first onto a safety railing. His hands had automatically grabbed at it but still his torso leaned precariously over the top. His grey eyes widening at the drop under him.

A chuckle echoed from behind him and he turned to step away - running anywhere but here. The second he put weight on his ankle it collapsed under him and he had to desperately grasp at the railing next to him and haul himself back up. Looking down he could see the thick red line an inch or two above his sole, a sure sign that he'd actually sprained a ligament. He couldn't run like this. Leaning over the railing more purposefully now, he looked down at the two, maybe three story drop.

"Thinking of jumping, Quentin?" a deep, rough voice whispered in his ear.

Not even a second later he felt the heat of the other body against his back, the scratch of the sweater through his thin shirt. He gulped down bile. It wasn't a bad idea really, except that-

He toppled, head over heels, a high pitched sound that he barely realised was his own screams as his body plummeted. There is a searing sound or light behind his eyes and after a too long moment he realises he is on the ground. The pain is literally blinding until the steam buffers his sight and he sees something red and white poking out of his leg. His arms are splayed behind him and he tries to scramble away from whatever it is, some primal instinct inside him shouting that this is wrong and bad. He looks away at the horrifically familiar pipes lining the walls but another scream positively yanks itself from his raw throat as he tries to scramble.

His leg hurts. He can't move it. There's something red and white lodged in it. His brain isn't letting him connect the dots, it's still trying to protect him from trauma like _that's a fucking option here_. The sound of sparks echo down from above, metal shrieking against metal. They won't be any less dull when they reach him. He has to get away. Has to get up and go.

This is why he didn't want to jump. He wasn't going to die until Krueger let him so the jump would just leave him vulnerable but he didn't jump so how had he gotten down here?

"Quentin... Little Quentin..." The voice practically sings for him.

He has to move. He twists at the waist, trying to keep his legs stationary. He presses his palms down on the whorls of rough concrete below and a new pain warms his innards like a low fire rumbling to life. He tries to drag himself and the pain flares, gasoline thrown on the metaphorical fire. One arm is covered in red. He doesn't know why or what from. The other is fine except it looks weird. He moves his fingers and is rewarded both with pain and with movement. He moves his shoulder and gets the same.

He doesn't remember where his elbow is meant to be. He can't figure it out. He thinks it's meant to be where his arm bends but he can't figure out which of the bends in his arm is meant to be his elbow.

There are black spots in front of his eyes and they partially obscure the brown leather gloves that lower into his vision. He waves a hand to bat at it but his hand must have turned invisible because he doesn't see it make contact. The hand makes a silent clicking motion and suddenly the sound of steam rushes back into his ears, the echoing of the corridor fills him, the shifting and creaking of these maintenance basements and the sight before him is crystal clear.

"Not yet, boy." Krueger's rough voice tells him.

Quentin rolls his torso around again, seeing if anything has fixed itself. The ivory thing is still stuck in his leg, so no change there. Still hurts like a bitch, too, but that is kinda fading into a background constant. The dragging hurt more, somehow. Made his arms ache or something. He tries to shake his leg and dislodge the ivory thing. Some red shakes off, but the ivory remains.

"Enjoy your Fall Break, Quentin?"

The pun is atrocious and it simultaneously occurs to him that Freddy tossed him over the railing and that the reason the white-ivory thing won't dislodge is because bones are meant to be on the inside.

He twists to the side and vomits all over his red arm. It stings, the acid mingling with whatever open wounds the arm has sustained. There's too much blood - and now too much vomit - to see where the injuries are. He tries not to look at his other arm or think about why it's moving strange.

Freddy clicks his tongue disapprovingly at the gross display, but Quentin snaps at him before he can make another quip;

"Oh fuck  **off!** "

And then he tries to throw up again, only for a leather glove to cover his mouth. He vomits anyway, the stomach acid retching up into his mouth and his cheeks bulging as both the air and bile are held trapped inside. He snorts and it shoots out his his nose, burning his nostrils as he tries to sniff automatically. Before he can snort again a finger and thumb press his nostrils closed and he is left full up of vomit and acid and CO2. He struggles, then stills as pain shoots from basically everywhere to stab at his heart. But then his lungs vie for attention and convince the rest of his body that at least pain means he's **alive** but no breath will mean he's **dead**  and he seems to have enough self-preservation left to thrash and writhe.

The hand releases and he coughs through the acid so as to gulp in big mouthfuls of air. Their is an arm under his arms now, wrapped around his chest and pulling his back up against a solid, scratchy surface.

_Right, of course,_ his mind whirls back into order after the delirium, _Krueger._

He literally can't run now so he suspects Kruger has stopped playing with him. You don't chase a mouse that can't run, after all. He's devolved into scratching just a bit too deep into the mouse, maiming it so as to draw out the disembowelling. Oh god he wished he hadn't just thought that. His chest heaves as he leans back against the man, not particularly capable of moving away. He seems to be leaned back between the older man's legs, the dark gardening pants framing his distorted legs. The arm around his lungs tightens minutely and the opposite hand snakes over his hips and across his pelvis.

"No. No no no nononono-" he mutters as he weakly squirms in Krueger's grip. Even if he could dislodge the strong man's grip he's in no state to actually go away anywhere.

Predictably the hand doesn't stop for his pleas and more gently than he expects it palms at the outline of his dick. The long shears are terrifying and having anything that sharp near his penis is terrifying and the combination is just bad in general. The hand pulls back up to his waistband and in that motion is has mysteriously lost it's glove. The hand itself it not much better, its hypertrophic surface unnaturally smooth and uncomfortably puckered. Krueger reaches into his pants anyway, grasping his dick and rubbing it, working up a small rhythm.

Quentin can feel himself shaking in his arms, not quite sobbing but not quite panting either. His eyes are squeezed shut and through the pain radiating in his limbs he can't tell if the wet he feels rolling down his face is sweat, steam or tears. He can feel as the monster behind him rocks forward, rocking up against his body, using him to get hard.

"You were always so pretty, Quentin. Still got your pretty soft lips, you know."

He wants to throw up again as memories seep back into his mind, the repression loosing it's mettle as he struggles in his coma. He doesn't have anything left to throw up, not matter the energy to make his stomach convulse and his throat ripple.

He can feel Krueger getting more frantic against his back, the hand on his limp cock getting a little faster and too rough. He flinches, his penis somehow trumping his multiple broken bones in terms of most immediate pain.

"Oh come on," the smokey voice wheedles from behind his ear, "Don't you want to play my special games anymore?"

Quentin can remember them, the 'special games'. He remembers that Nancy was the winner. He was never down here with Nancy, he never brought more than one at a time. Still the kids knew that she was the winner. God how he longs for her right now. He is so incredibly thankful that she isn't here but he wants her so badly.

"Fine." Krueger sounds almost disappointed - not mad just disappointed. What, did he expect Quentin to be into his **molestation**? 

"Then I guess it'll just be good for **me**."

The hand that trails out of his shorts is equipped with shears again and he shivers at the feel of their blades scraping delicately against his privates. The hand around his chest loosens and his body flops forward a little. The world in front of him swims and he realises he should have bleed out or fainted long before now. Freddy's fault, of course. But the world continues to gently rock - or his torso is gently rocking - and this time Freddy isn't clearing his head - this time there's no snap of fingers and no snap of his legs and there still--

" ** _Hgck!!_** "

His breath catches in the back of his throat, his chest tightening and his face freezing. With wide eyes, Quentin looked down and saw four long blades, bright with crimson, dripping wet, and sticking out of his guts. They wiggle or beckon him from just under his naval while his own gore hangs from them. Then the shears retreat with a wet sucking sound and his ears hear but his brain fails to notice Krueger shifts his position behind him. Then Quentin feels himself hauled up a little further, Freddy sinking a little lower behind him and something else presses into the dripping hole in his guts. A hand that would be kind if it weren't red with blood rests at his waist, keeping him steady and stopping him from falling over as Freddy thrusts his hips up against his back.

Except... that isn't what's happening. Krueger is still thrusting up against him but it's less humping now and more outright...

"Wh-what are you doing?" his shaky voice asks because his brain won't connect the dots.

He wished his voice was steadier. No, anyone would be unsettled by this. No, he doesn't want to be terrified in front of this monster. No, he wants his mommy.

Freddy's croaky voice cracked in his ear as his free hand gently grasped one of Quentin's own;

"Here." he said like he was showing him a secret.

He guided Quentin's hand over his own bleeding stomach, pressing it onto the hole as if to staunch the blood loss. Then his ungloved hand pressed his fingers into the wound, pressing through the gooey intestines to feel the round head of something foreign. Quentin looked down in a woozy daze to stare at what his hand was doing and Krueger politely removed his own hand so as to make the sight more clear. Quentin flexed his finger, pressing and prodding the smooth shape. At a particularly tight squeeze of his fingertips, he heard Krueger moan and thrust up harder - and saw the shape moving inside him thrust up, synchronised. He could feel the muscles around his stomach contract as a ripple of disgust ran from his belly up his throat.

_Oh god that's his cock. He's fucking my guts, oh god, oh shit, he's fucking my innards._

Freddy thrust up again and - whether by instinct or reflex or... something Quentin grabbed his cock tighter. His jaw dropped open as he watched, transfixed. He couldn't stop thinking about it. He thought he was being violated before, with this bastard's cock in his mouth and his hands groping all over his body but this. **_This_**. It was something else altogether. It was Freddy opening him right up, baring his most vulnerable self to the world and then invading it. Claiming it. Making it **his** as he rearranges Quentin's organs at his will. He can feel the slime of his intestines pressing against his fingers as he continues rubbing at Freddy, moving automatically and unsure of why his hand is still inside his own gut.

Then Freddy moves his hand from it's waist-high position down below Quentin's waistband again. There is another cackle in his ear right as the hand rubs over his pelvis and he lights up with warmth, his toes curling and gasping in a desperate breath.

"Quentin~" Krueger drags out in a playful tone, "My, my. We are a naughty boy, aren't we?"

For a second he doesn't realise what Krueger means until the hand moves again and he realises that the man has a grip wrapped around his hardening cock. Oh god, when had that happened? Quentin's jaw hung open, his tongue lolling as he panted in time to Krueger's thrusts and the pumps of his dick. Oh god he hadn't been getting before how could he be getting hard now? When Krueger was not just molesting him but mutilating him too? Cutting him open and messing with his offal, lubed up with his blood and mucus.

There was a low moan and it wasn't until Krueger chuckled again that Quentin realised the sound had rumbled out of him.

"So **this** is what I had to do to get you _interested_ , hm? You just needed something a bit more hardcore. A bit more **intimate**."

That was it, wasn't it? It was so intimate having someone inside of him. Not just fucking his arse but seriously inside of him, somewhere that people weren't meant to be, weren't meant to touch. His fingers tightened around the head of Freddy's cock as he tried to push the feelings away. This was gross, disgusting, revolting. He'd been trying to throw up at all this he couldn't-

He shuddered again as Freddy squeezed at him, the warmth of pleasure flowing through him again.

God, he was loosing it.

Krueger pulled out with a wet sound and Quentin could feel a short length of intestine fall out of the gap left behind. He dropped heavily onto his back, all the support from behind him suddenly gone and he could feel the tube underneath him squish uncomfortably on the small of his back. That can't be good. Not that he's getting out of here alive. Does it really matter any more?

_Yes! He's not going to win! He can torture me as much as he likes but I'm not letting him win!_ Quentin tried to cheer himself on, thinking of how to make Nancy proud with his last stand.

His brave thoughts had a hard time sticking in his brain as Freddy held his hair and angled his chin down so that he could watch as Freddy leaned over his front, his twisted and disfigured dick pointing at the ragged hole above his hips. As Freddy slowly lowered himself forward and pushed the head of his cock inside the wound, pressing his firm organ up against the smooth entrails inside. A whimper fluttered out of Quentin's lips as he watched and soon Freddy didn't have to hold his head for him to remain transfixed on the sight. With every thrust inside of him, Krueger's thigh rubbed up against his disturbingly hard prick, reminding him that this sight wasn't just like watching a train wreck - it was like watching porn. Why was this... It had to be something Krueger was doing, right? But if Krueger could do that, why had he tricked Quentin before? And why hadn't he gotten hard when he'd tried with just his hand?

Krueger was panting, too, harsh sounds huffing above him and reminding him that this man still bore the visage of a man who had burnt alive - a man with smoke filling his lungs who had probably suffocated before the flames licking his skin had killed him. That can't have made it easy to breath, dream world or not. It was difficult to tell with how the skin of his face was puckered and pulled taut at strange angles but he looked almost serene as he fucked up into Quentin.

His hand, soft flesh and smooth scars, patted Quentin's head and he leaned down to his face. Quentin hadn't decided if he was turning into the face or away from it before Freddy spoke;

"Good boy. _Ooohh_ you are such a good boy, Quentin."

His thighs squeezed around Freddy's own reflexively as Quentin gasped at the compliment and rocked up into him. A litany of denials ran through his head as he clumsily thrust up against the monster, his hands flying up to desperately grab at his forearms.

"Mmmmm," the monster hummed appreciatively, "You like that, huh? You want more? Should I fuck you harder and deeper, boy?"

Quentin shook his head frantically, still rubbing his cock on Krueger's leg, even as his mouth begged;

"Please."

A hand came to rest on his stomach, the leather part of the glove Krueger wore wrapped around his own cock as the blades rested on Quentin's stained shirt.

"Look a little confused there. Wanna try again?"

Quentin screwed up his face, squeezing his eyes closed as he concentrated on denying this monster the chance to see him beg. When he opened his face he let his lips start to say no and...

And he caught sight of Krueger using his thumb to press at his stomach, feeling the sensation squish bizarrely on his loosened entrails.

"Please." he moaned a second time, this time his hands betraying him as they tore at his shirt and opened it up, his legs betraying him as they pressed his engorged cock up against the monster's leg.

Krueger smiled wide, stretching his destroyed lips and showing his uneven gravestone teeth. He continued smiling as he pressed his thumbs - shear and all - into the hole that he was fucking and began to saw up to Quentin's sternum. Like a balloon full of mud the skin split suddenly but the insides oozed lazily. He thrust forward into the mess and Quentin could see his cock getting coats with bile, blood and mucus. Could watch as Freddy's burnt hand wrapped his small intestines around his own cock and used them like a cocksleeve to jerk of into. He watched with gasping breaths as Krueger pushed his up between his liver and his stomach, psychosomatically feeling it as he pressed between the two organs.

Krueger pulled at him more, more violently now that he was trying to pass the sternum. His shears smoothly parted Quentin's layers of skin and rolled them back like fabric before his strong hand gripped the cartilage of his ribs. Quentin couldn't help but dig his fingers into Krueger's upper arms, rutting against the man at every _snap_ of his ribs while his eyes rolled back in his head. He only really had Freddy's foot and the fabric of his shorts to thrust against now that Kruger was straddling his waist, pressing his hard cock in between his lungs and rubbing the head right against his heart.

Looking down, Quentin watched his lungs expand and contract with his quick and stuttery breaths. He was watching himself breath, watching his heart hammer a staccato, moving against Krueger's warm, throbbing cock. He watched as his lungs fell from their confines, spilling out of his chest as they were dislodged by Kruger's ecstatic thrusts. He reached down over the man's thighs, running his hands through his own offal before slipping his hands into his shorts and taking a proper hold of himself. He wasn't thinking anymore, couldn't think or he'd stop, or he'd ruin it. He just had to keep moving, keep letting his body take control.

His head tipped back and he moaned at the sensations engulfing his body - then he shivered as he felt the slight breeze against his exposed, vibrating trachea. Krueger's moan mingled with him and his attention was fishhooked down to Freddy's bladed fingers dancing over his thin, delicate lungs. The fingers moved them aside and then pressed threateningly - promisingly - just under his larynx.

Freddy didn't have to ask to hear Quentin babbling and begging for it, muttered pleas spilling over his lips as his hips moved up desperately into his own offal-slicked hands.

The shears had little trouble nestling between the cartilage and severing his windpipe, exposing the wrong end of the tube to the humid air of the basement memory. Krueger moved up again and even in his blissed out state Quentin had enough wherewithal to wonder what the fuck he could be about to try. His question was answered not second later as Krueger pressed his cock up through the windpipe, thrusting the hole like it was made for it.

Quentin's head fell back with a loud thump against the concrete floor , his eyes rolling back to white and his mouth hanging wide open. He could feel the head of Krueger's cock just barely entering his mouth with each thrust and he couldn't stop shivering, almost convulsing as the monster violated each inch of him and forcing him to perform this reverse deep throat.

* * *

 

In a room at Thompson Memorial Hospital, Doctor's rush to Quentin Smith's bedside while nurses orderly but brisking follow orders around them. They try to stop the cardiac arrest, try to restart his heart, try to stop him from flat lining.

They do not succeed.

The senior doctor calls the time and the pair leave for their other patients. A nurse leaves to call the morgue and another leaves to call the father.

None of them look back as a line of cum dribbles from the corner of Quentin's reposeful smile.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I may just post this again but without the smut as a fic of it's own? Also how did this get so _long_???
> 
> I posted this at a quarter to 4am so please for the love of god tell me about any tags I missed.


End file.
